Song of Songs 1:10
Then shal thy chekes & thy neck be made fayre, & hanged wt spages & goodly iewels:
Then shal thy chekes & thy neck be made fayre, & hanged wt spages & goodly iewels:
These verses are found using AI-powered semantic similarity based on meaning and context. Results may occasionally include unexpected connections.
11a neck bande of golde wil we make ye wt syluer bottons.
9There wil I tary for the (my loue) wt myne hoost & with my charettes, which shalbe no fewer then Pharaos.
1O how fayre art thou (my loue) how fayre art thou? thou hast doues eyes besyde that which lyeth hid within.
2Thy hayrie lockes are like a flocke of shepe that be clypped, which go first vp from the washinge place: where euery one beareth two twyns, and not one vnfrutefull amoge them.
3Thy lippes are like a rose coloured rybende, thy wordes are louely: thy chekes are like a pece of a pomgranate, besydes that which lyed hyd within.
4Thy neck is like the tower of Dauid buylded with bulworkes, wher vpon there hage a thousande sheldes, yee all the weapes of the giautes.
5Thy two brestes are like two twyns of yonge roes, which fede amoge the lilies.
6O that I might go to the mountayne of Myrre, and to the hyll of frankynsense: till the daye breake, and till the shadowes be past awaye.
7Thou art all fayre (o my loue) & no spott is there in the.
11I decked the wt costly apparell, I put rynges vpon thy fyngers: a chayne aboute thy necke,
12spages vpo thy foreheade, eare rynges vpon thyne eares, & set a beutifull crowne vpon thine heade.
13Thus wast thou deckte with syluer & golde, & thy rayment was of fyne white sylke, of nedle worke & of dyuerse colours. Thou didest eate nothinge but symnels, honny & oyle: maruelous goodly wast thou & beutifull, yee euen a very Quene wast thou:
1O how pleasaunt are thy treadinges with thy shues, thou prynces daughter? Thy thees are like a fayre iewell, which is wrought by a connynge workmaster:
2Thy nauell is like a rounde goblett, which is neuer without drynke: Thy wombe is like an heape of wheate, sett aboute with lilies:
3Thy two brestes are like two twyns of yonge roes:
4Thy neck is as it were a tower of yuery: Thyne eyes are like ye water poles in Hesebon, besyde the porte of Bathrabbim: Thy nose is like the tower of Libanus, which loketh towarde Damascus:
5That heade that stondeth vpon the is like Carmel: The hayre of thy heade is like the kynges purple folden vp in plates.
6O how fayre and louely art thou (my derlynge) in pleasures?
7Thy stature is like a date tre, and thy brestes like the grapes. I sayde:
9Who is thy loue aboue other louers, O thou fayrest amonge wemen? Or, what can thy loue do, more then other louers, that thou chargest vs so straitly?
10As for my loue, he is whyte and reade coloured, a synguler personne amonge many thousandes:
11his heade is the most fyne golde, the lockes of his hayre are bu?shed, browne as the euenynge:
12His eyes are as the eyes of doues by the water brokes, washen with mylck, and remaynynge in a plenteous place:
13His chekes are like a garden bedd, where in the Apotecaryes plate all maner of swete thinges: His lippes droppe as the floures of the most pryncipall Myrre,
14his hades are full of golde rynges and precious stones. His body is as the pure yuery, decte ouer with Saphyres:
15His legges are as the pilers of Marbell, sett vpon sokettes of golde: His face is as Libanus, and as the bewty of the Cedre trees:
16His throte is swete, yee he is alltogether louely. Soch one is my loue (o ye doughters of Ierusalem) soch one is my loue.
9Thou hast wouded my hert (o my sister, my spouse) thou hast wounded my hert, with one of thine eyes, and with one cheyne of thy neck.
10O how fayre and louely are thy brestes, my sister, my spouse? Thy brestes are more pleasaunt then wyne, and the smell of thy oyntmentes passeth all spices.
11Thy lippes (o my spouse) droppe as the hony combe, yee mylck and hony is vnder thy tonge, and the smell of thy garmentes is like the smell of frankynsense.
4Thou art pleasaunt (o my loue) euen as louelynesse itself, thou art fayre as Ierusalem, glorious as an armye of men with their baners
5(Turne awaye thine eyes fro me, for they make me to proude) Thy hayrie lockes are like a flocke of goates vpon ye mount of Galaad.
6Thy teth are like a flock of shepe yt be clypped, which go out of the washinge place: where euery one beareth two twyns, & not one vnfrutefull amoge them.
7Thy chekes are like a pece of a pomgranate, besydes yt which lyeth hid within.
9for that shal brynge grace vnto thy heade, & shalbe a cheyne aboute thy necke.
14A cluster of grapes of Cypers, or of the vynyardes of Engaddi, art thou vnto me, O my beloued.
15O how fayre art thou (my loue) how fayre art thou? thou hast doues eyes.
20ye goodly floured, wyde and broderd raymet, brusshes and headbandes,
21rynges and garlades,
2O that thy mouth wolde geue me a kysse, for yi brestes are more pleasaunt then wyne,
3& that because of the good and pleasaunt sauoure. Thy name is a swete smellynge oyntment, therfore do the maydens loue the:
4yee that same moueth me also to renne after the. The kynge hath brought me into his preuy chambre. We wil be glad & reioyce in the, we thynke more of thy brestes then of wyne: well is them that loue the.
8Thou hast loued rightuousnesse, & hated iniquite: wherfore God (which is thy God) hath anoynted the with the oyle of gladnes aboue thy felowes.
9All thy garmentes are like myrre, Aloes & Cassia, when thou comest out of thine yuerie palaces in thy beutifull glory.
2My tonge is ye penne of a ready wryter.
10the pilers are of syluer, the coueringe of golde, ye seate of purple, ye grounde pleasauntly paued for the doughters of Ierusalem.
11Go forth (o ye doughters of Sion) and beholde kynge Salomon in the crowne, wherwith his mother crowned him in the daye of his mariage, and in the daye of the gladnesse of his hert.
13The doughters of Tyre shal be there with giftes, the riche amonge the people shal make their supplicacion before the.
10My beloued answered & sayde vnto me: O stode vp my loue, my doue, my beutyfull, & come:
11Herken (o doughter) considre, & enclyne thine eare: forget thine owne people, & thy fathers house.